dusty_angelus: (Anderson - Pain in Mind)
[personal profile] dusty_angelus
[]Mark 3:22-29

And the scribes which came down from Jerusalem said,
“He is possessed by Beelzebub! By the Prince of Demons he casteth out demons!”
So Jesus called them unto him, and said unto them in parables:
“How can Satan cast out Satan?
If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand.
If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand.
And if Satan rise up against himself, and be divided, he cannot stand, but hath an end.
Verily I say unto you, All sins shall be forgiven unto the sons of Men, and blasphemies wherewith soever they shall blaspheme.
But he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Spirit hath never forgiveness, but is guilty of eternal sin and damnation.”
[]

[†]The middle of the night rouses the priest from a slumber so deep he had not realized just how long he had been out. Stirring, he stretches an arm over his head at an impossible angle, poking the lens of the tiny camera unbeknown before sitting up with a look of utter bemusement.

How in God's good name did he get into the bathtub?

And why was the tight space so, eerily comfortable? Despite his long legs and arms dangling over the sides of it. Anderson shudders over brushing his head, which is uncharacteristically cold to the touch. Sick, perhaps he's sick, and in his delirium wandered into here? Mewling as he pushes himself out of the tub the sensation of utter cold seems to grasp him at all ends... to his very core it felt like sub-arctic ice, and perturbably hallow within.

Stepping over to the sink, he doesn't take notice that he seems to glide rather than walk, as if his very presence were soaked into the floor like the shadows roving about in the small room. Turning the faucet he cups water to splash upon his smooth-feeling and ashen cheeks. A heavy sigh leaves him, as if he'd forgotten to breathe... or how to breathe, he cranes his head up to face the mirror, to see not his visage, but two bright Hellish and Red glowing eyes staring back at him.
[†]

ALUCAAAAAAAARD!!!!!


[†]A violent fist crushes into the mirror shattering shards of glass in every direction.[†]

YE FOUL WRETCH! HOW EN NINE HELLS DID YE GIT EN HAUR--!?

[†]Spinning around he expected to hear the creature's infuriating guffawing from all around him. Yet instead, he heard the laughter come from within.. One chortle, then two guffaws, then twenty cackles, then a hundred crowings, then thousands, millions of cachinnations deafening all other sounds of the world till his mind felt as if it would implode and blood leak from his ears. The pain was immeasurable as he dropped to his knees clutching his skull in a paling cry.[†]

Aaa..AAAHHHH...AAAHHH!!! SH-SHUT UP! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!!!

YE DAMNED DEMONS GET THEE OOT AV MY MIND! Sancte Míchael Archángele, defénde nos in proélio contra nequítiam et insídias diáboli esto præsídium! Imperet illi Deus, súpplices deprecámur!! Tuque, princeps milítiæ cæléstis, Sátanam aliósque spíritus malígnos, qui ad perditiónem animárum pervagántur in mundo, divína virtúte, In inférnum detru--!!!

[†]A feral roar twisted up his throat as agony wracked up his body, feeling it contort as if he was not one whole being, but the peculiar shadow of many. His hands dropping to the floor as he quaked in fiery pangs, he stared at one large shard of glass to see his own face staring back at him. Pale and cadaverous as a dead thing, eyes as deep and ruddy and aglow with all the debased flames of Gehenna.[†]



. . .O' Mary. . .Mother of God. . .


[†]The flesh of his hands burned like fresh branding irons pressed to his nude skin, and as his balking and dread-stricken gaze crept towards the source of the pain, he saw the Occult Seals, the Sigils that bound the Devil and Black Peril, scarificated upon his own hands.

What unholy abomination had he become?

Scribe! Pharisee! Hypocrite! Monster!

The camera dies, yet returns to life minutes later, still in the dark, still amongst reflective glass covering the tiling. The priest is seated upon his heels, his arms stretched out as far as they could go, with a blessed bayonet grasped strong and stalwartly in both hands, the silver blade-tip pointed at his own heart.
[†]

Yea, Lord, Ah give myself as ae unholy sacrifice fer them sae they can be made holy by Your truth. Nae shall Ah allaw m'self tae be ae burdensome beast whilst carrying Your holy Cross.

Ye cannot drink th' cup of th' Lord, an' the cup of th' Devil.. ye cannot be partakers of th' Lord's table, an' of th' table of th' Devil.

Doth Ah provoke th' Lord's jealousy? Am Ah stronger than He? Nay.... N-nae.. Ah've fallen frem His grace, an' shall nae rove abit as ae mockery tae His name an' sacrifice.

Yea, an' even if Ah lose my life, pouring it out loch ae liquid offering tae God, Ah be offering upon thes sacrifice an' service of Your faith... Ah joy.. Ah joy an' rejoice wit' you all.

In nomine Patris, et Filii,et Spiritus Sancti.


. . .Amen
.

[†]End Transmission.[†]
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Alexander Anderson

January 2010

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